“There are no civilians,” Gill continued, “Not anymore. Every man and woman
picks up a weapon and fights! I’m aware of the rules of engagement, believe me
I am, but with our extinction from
this planetliterally being a
possibility, the rules of engagement become a bit less of a primary concern!”

Gill sat back, young face flushing
with the glow of an outburst.

“I’m not questioning your ethics, Chief
Commander,” Sanders said deliberately, “God forbid. All I’m saying is that when
we begin putting weapons in the hands of untrained farmers and engineers, and
tell them to fight for their lives side by side with trained soldiers,
unforeseen circumstances arise. It is possible that more is not necessarily the best
option in this case, sir.”

Joe Gill stood, hands clenched at his
side. For a long time they both said nothing.

The small command outpost they
occupied, a squat, ugly building, was a virtual sauna, with the inch-thick
walls doing little to aid the situation. The structure had been designed for
strength, not to create comfortable living conditions in alien climates. Both
men’s faces dripped sweat.

At last the Chief Commander composed
himself and sat. He wiped his face with an already drenched hand towel.

“Look, Sanders,” he said, taking a
calming breath, “If you want to dig up Abraham’s corpse and punch it in the
face, be my guest. I would completely understand and maybe even take a swing
myself. He was arrogant and he underestimated them, and now we’re left staring
down the barrel of a gun. But it is what it is. I’m also aware I’m a stranger
in your outpost, taking command in a highly volatile situation. But the fact of
the matter is I’m all you have right now. So, let’s just stick to the reality
of the situation, and let my word be final for the sake of getting things done.
Agreed?”

Sanders cleared his throat and nodded.
“Agreed, Chief Commander.”

“Fine. Then your first order of
business upon leaving this command office will be to round up the remaining
engineers and farmers and put weapons in their hands. I see little point in having
terra-formers hanging around aimlessly with hell breathing down our necks.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then,” Joe paused to riffle
through papers, “Second; we have no more deep reconnaissance capabilities, the
entire unit and all the equipment have been lost. Is that correct?”

Sanders nodded. “Yes, sir. When
Charlie-Delta was overrun the equipment and team were on site.”

“So we’re basically blind. Fine, noted. Next; the
last deep report made, some two months ago, said that the Martians are in as
precarious a position as ours; likewise on the brink. Is that also correct?”

“Yes, sir. They lost the majority of
their forces during the capture of Charlie-Delta and Charlie-Beta.” Sanders
paused, frowning. “Chief Commander, a question.”

“Long enough it doesn’t matter,
Sanders. The Martians will inevitably attack us, if what I understand about
these Martians is true.”

“It is, sir.”

“So then we dig in, stand firm, and
let their remaining forces crush themselves against us. We cannot rely on
cavalry. Either way, the war for this planet will be over once and for all.”

Sanders nodded. “As you say, sir.”

“So then, first commander, what is your
advice?”

Sanders thought for a moment, stroking the
scruffy forest of grey hair on his chin. He was Joe Gill’s senior in age by two
and a half decades.

“I request a pre-emptive operation,”
Sanders said.

Joe’s eyebrows shot up. “I beg your
pardon?”

“A pre-emptive operation, Chief
Commander; a selection of our finest sent in to perform a reconnaissance and
possible strike at the hive.”

“You want me to withdraw men from our
already strained defences, and send them on a mission to the hive?”

“Just hear me out, Chief Commander, if you
would. I have a theory I’d like to discuss.”

Joe, bemused, turned his eyes up to
the tactical map on the wall behind him. He picked out a large red dot, its
position surrounded by dozens of other red dots.

“That’s practically a suicide mission
with the soldiers we have left, Sanders. Why would we possibly do such a thing?”

“Not that hive, Chief Commander,”
Sanders said. He stood and touched a finger to a second red dot, this one smaller.
It was hidden on a corner of the map, standing alone. “That hive.”

“Sanders, what in God’s name are you
talking about?”

“I believe, Chief Commander, we may
have been misunderstanding the Martian threat entirely. Ever since this war
began. I’d like the chance to confirm or debunk my theory.”

A new voice rang from outside. “Chief
Commander.”

Sergeant Farrows entered the office
and saluted. The man towered over the others by nearly a foot.

“What is it, Sergeant?” Joe
responded.

“Enemy incoming, sir. A lot of them.”

***

I raise my head and survey the
landscape. Here the terrain is jagged, harsh and inhospitable. It is not
suitable for conflict. It is not appropriate for war. I know this is why the
enemy has chosen to build its last remaining base at this location. But then,
they do not know. They are not yet aware of my Ultimate-Soldier, to whom the
difficult landscape is nothing, and their defences almost meaningless. I have
won; the final endgame is finally at hand. The enemy is defeated. It is only a
matter of time.

I move my left arm, creating a fist,
and punch it towards the front of the base; the side with the strongest defences.
Then, with my right hand I scoop up Ultimate-Soldiers, enough to end the war,
and stretch this arm around the flank of the base, where the terrain is
harshest and defences least sufficient.

It is only a matter of time. The
final battle of this war has now begun.

***

Joe paced before a platoon of farmers
and engineers, their expressions bordering on panic. Some were barely out of
their teens. From a few hundred meters away came the sporadic thump-thump-thump of an automated
defence turret, its deafening reports echoing between surrounding canyon walls.
The sound drew involuntary flinches from the platoon.

“The hour of the human race is it
hand,” Joe bellowed to the staring faces. The medals on his breast flickered
under the scorching orange sun. “It is no exaggeration when I say we are all
that is going to stop our race being cleared from this planet entirely. Understand,
ladies and gentlemen, there is no cavalry riding in to fight this battle for
us. If we fall here, we are going to fail not just Earth, but the entire human
race.” Wide eyes followed him as he paced. “Now, I know you are not soldiers,
and I know you are not trained to engage in war. But I also know that it is not
training that makes a good soldier, but the heart that beats in his chest; the
human heart. And make no mistake, the human heart beats strongest. You ask what
we have that will keep the invaders from our doorstep, and the answer is simple;
human courage and determination! That’s what sets us apart from them. And today
our combined hearts will burn with such passion, that every invading bastard
coming over that horizon will scorch in the fire!”

A cheer went up from the ragtag
soldiers.

“We will give them hell,” Joe roared,
“And we will wipe them from this God forsaken planet once and for all! For
Earth! For the Entire human race!”

Another cheer. One enthusiastic man
fired his weapon into the air. Under normal circumstances Joe would have had
the man disciplined, on the spot, with the harshest penalties possible.

***

Automatic gunfire rattled,
accompanied by staccato bursts that punched into the night sky like camera
flashes. The front defensive wall of the base, standing eighteen feet tall at
its highest point, was a frenzied hive of activity. From the battlements
spotlights speared out to illuminate the canyon approach.

Joe and Sanders marched side by side,
towards the armoury where clusters of men were hurriedly organising ammunition
crates.

“The supplies are not getting to the
wall fast enough,” Joe said, raising his voice above the crackling gunfire, “We
need to help carry the ammunition.”

“Yes, Chief Commander,” Sanders
responded, “As you say.”

There came the boisterous screaming
of an amateur soldier from the wall. The sound made Sanders grunt.

“Should not have mixed trained soldiers
with regulars,” Sanders said as they arrived at the armoury, “That’s what I was
explaining, sir, they’ll just get in each others way.”

“The enthusiasm of the amateurs is a
boost to the moral of the trained soldiers,” Joe snapped, picking up a crate,
“That’s all we have right now, Sanders; high moral. And keeping it high is the
best I can do, short of strapping a bomb to myself and throwing my body at the
enemy ranks.”

Sanders recognised this sentiment,
word for word, from Academy textbooks. He bristled in annoyance.

“I suppose that would really impress
them, eh, Chief Commander, going out in a blaze of glory?”

Joe spun, his face blazing. “Yes,
Sanders, it would impress them! And God help me, I would do it if I could still
run this outpost with my limbs scattered across this God forsaken landscape!”

Sanders inclined his head briefly.
“Apologies, Chief Commander, I was not trying to be facetious. I was simply
agreeing with your observation. I am under no illusion as to what is at stake
here. I was simply trying to keep your own moral high, sir.”

Joe simmered and nodded. “Fine,
Sanders. Grab a crate.”

“If I may, Chief Commander.”

“What?”

“There are fifteen bodies currently
operating the armoury…”

“Yes?”

“Only six of those are trained
soldiers who have experience working with weapons and ordinance, the others are
regulars.”

“What are you suggesting, Sanders?”

“Send the nine regulars to reinforce
the wall. The trained soldiers will operate the armoury faster and more
efficiently unhindered by the inexperienced. Your supply chain will then be
fast enough.”

Joe paused, gazing at Sanders. Across
the base gunfire continued its endless chatter, each report followed by an
accompanying echo from the canyon walls. There came a distinct thump-thump-thump as a turret kicked
into life, picking off a stray Martian that made it too close to the wall.

At last, Joe nodded.

“Agreed. Do it.”

***

The enemy pours out its resources. My
left arm, my fist, endures. They tire themselves, weaken themselves, and I
wait. The enemy has limited resources, and should have as little as possible
for the finishing blow. I can endure, barely, but fear their ability to receive
new resources by air. I cannot endure much longer; the war has taken its toll,
and my body is weaker then it has ever been.

My right arm stands poised and ready, curled
around the rear of the base, where the terrain is harshest and virtually
unprotected. It is eager, this arm, twitching with anticipation, ready to strike.
But there is no rush. My Ultimate-Soldiers are patient. I calm and reassure the
arm, telling it its time will come in due course. The arm relaxes.

It’s only a matter of time and
patience. Keep them pouring out their resources.

Farrows turned and marched from the
bunker. Joe began to pace, his face reflective.

“They just keep crushing themselves
against our defences,” he said, half to Sanders, half to himself.

“Not what you expected, sir?” Sanders
asked.

“Exactly what I expected, of course.
But the reality is just so… striking.”

“At this rate we’ll have thinned
their numbers, probably their entire remaining population, in a matter of
Martian days.”

“Can the ammunition supply hold out?”

“I’m not sure, Chief Commander.”
Sanders lowered himself into a chair. Behind him the tactical map blinked with
red dots. “I can’t say for certain without reconnaissance. But we still have an
entire supply cache untouched. And the turrets have hundreds of rounds
remaining. Based on the final recognisance reports from two months ago, I would
venture to say they will run out of soldiers before we are unable to defend. Consider
that a guess only, however.”

“Then we’ve won,” Joe said, daring to
crack a smile.

“It would seem so, sir.”

Sanders frowned thoughtfully.

“Why don’t you look convinced,
Sanders?”

For a moment Sanders said nothing.
His hand went to the scar on his cheek, running its length with an index
finger.

“How long have you been involved in
the conflict, Chief Commander Gill,” he asked.

Joe narrowed his eyes. “What are you
getting at?”

“I’m not questioning your competence,
sir, simply making an observation. Do you know how long we’ve been at war with
the Martians?”

“Four years? Five?”

“Since the very first terra-formers
landed here and established the mining operation. Sure, Earth did not send
actual soldiers until the Martians posed a real threat, later, but the official
length of the war is nearly a decade. Most don’t realise this. Likely because
it has been such a filthy, unglamorous affair, on a planet with all the appeal
of a dead fish.”

Joe shrugged. “Some would say all war
is filthy and unglamorous.”

Sanders threw back his head at let
out a guffaw. “If only that were so, sir, it really depends on the marketing.
I, personally, have been on this rock for three years now. In my time here we’ve
killed scores of them, and they’ve killed scores of us. More battles and
skirmishes have happened then I could possibly hope to count.”

“Again, what are you getting at,
Sanders?”

“The official report is that the Martians
have no tactics or military awareness, hence the location of the base with the
funnelled approach. But,” Sanders looked up, “I’ve watched them, sir. I’ve
witnessed moments in my time here, fleeting, but indications that they are far
more intelligent then we assume.”

Joe frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen handfuls of enemy grunts
sweeping around an outpost during an attack, studying the events, and scurrying
off again. Assumedly to make reports to some kind of over-watch. I’ve seen, at
the last battle of outpost Charlie-Delta, an enemy grunt playing with one of
our men.”

“Playing?”

“Toying with him. One of our fallen
soldiers, completely helpless and beyond our retrieval, left to die by our own.
The Martian prodded him, pressing his wounds and squeezing his ears, watching
the result, studying how we experience pain.”

“I’ve never heard about this,” Joe
said.

“Few have. Because it all seems
insignificant and random where these creatures are concerned. Broken reports of
apparent intelligence are far outweighed by the fact that they have simply
swarmed us during every single conflict.”

There was a silence. Outside the
gunfire continued, punctuated by the screams of a regular in the thralls of a
bloodlust.

“Sanders, just what are you suggesting,”
Joe said, “That they have been swarming us like mindless zealots, all this
time, on purpose? Years of throwing themselves at us to die in their thousands?
For what reason, for what purpose? That
would be…”

“Inhuman,” Sanders agreed, nodding.

***

The Martian sun floated lazily
upwards, ushering in another scorching day on one of the most inhospitable
planets that could support human life. The endless leagues of brown landscape
baked. Not a breath of wind offered relief from the suffocating heat.

Another Martian scurried out over the
landscape and into the open. On either side of it, a few hundred meters away,
were immense canyon walls, towering up like skyscrapers. But it did not seek
cover at the base of these walls, where fallen rocks could have offered
protection. Instead it ran directly at the outpost without restraint. Seconds
later a dozen simultaneous puncture wounds exploded across its exoskeleton,
sending spurting jets of black blood to sizzle on the ground. Its body hit the
dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust, and its limbs contracted briefly before it
died. All around hundreds of nearly identical soldiers did the same.

But further up the canyon, near the
mouth, clutches and groups of Martians were gathered, hidden in grooves and
behind boulders, trickling in via a seemingly endless stream. These groups of
Martians were careful not to be observed by the base, some being mere meters
from exposure. But they never did expose themselves; they simply stood their
ground and waited. When it was their turn, they broke cover and charged the
base.

Sometimes the soldiers would click
and snap at each other, other times they stood in complete silence. But always
they remained part of the bigger body of soldiers.

***

On the third day a female engineer stumbled
while descending the defence-wall steps, accidentally letting off a burst of
fire and injuring a fellow soldier. In ordinary circumstances she would have
seen a thunderous storm of disciplinary action. On this occasion she was put to
bed and told to return in two hours.

On the fifth day a young farmer was
seen pitching over the battlements and plummeting to his death; the first
casualty. Sergeant Farrows at first assumed the man had been accidentally shot
by one of his peers, but soon realised the exhausted fool had simply fallen
asleep.

Beyond the base the canyon floor was
a carpet of dead Martian soldiers, in some places standing several meters high.
They never stopped coming, and the living were forced to precariously pick
their way through forests of jutting dead limbs, making them easier targets.

“The soldiers are exhausted,” Farrows
reported in the command centre, “We just can’t keep this up, sir. Not enough
soldiers can be cycled for anyone to get a decent bit of shut eye.”

Joe rubbed a hand over his own tired
eyes. It had been nearly thirty six hours since he had slept.

“I guess it can’t be put off any
longer,” he muttered, “Remove fifty from duty and let them sleep for two hours.”

“Yes, Chief Commander,” Farrows said,
saluting.

“And Farrows?”

“Yes, sir?”

“That means you as well. Get some
sleep.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“Not a suggestion, Farrows.”

“Yes, sir.”

Farrows left. For a while the inside
of the command centre was still. On the tactical map, red lights continued to
blink. After a few minutes the air thundered with thump-thump-thump after thump-thump-thump
of automated turrets, each picking up the slack of missing soldiers. Joe took a
deep breath, counting the spent rounds in his head. Sanders said nothing.

“This isn’t how I imagined it,” Joe
spoke up eventually.

“It’s never how an Academy Cadet thinks it
will be, sir.”

There was another long pause.

Thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump.

“Why didn’t they put you in command,”
Joe asked.

Sanders did not respond.

“Sanders?”

“It is considered rude for a Chief
Commander to ask that of his First Commander, sir.”

“I’m not looking to judge, Sanders.
Just curious.”

“There was an incident when Charlie-Delta
fell, sir. I was denied a commanding position for the remainder of my career.”

“You were Chief Commander at
Charlie-Delta? I didn’t realise. What happened?”

“Nothing I think I could have
avoided, sir, even if I had wanted too. But someone needed to be punished.”

Joe nodded.

Thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump.

“Why were you assigned to this rock,
Chief Commander,” Sanders asked. “Surely better places for a young man who must
have been cream of the Academy crop.”

Joe diverted his eyes and shrugged.

“It’s considered rude for a First
Commander to ask that of his new Chief Commander, Sanders.”

“Fair enough, sir.”

“It was a punishment,” Joe said,
“They wanted me somewhere far away. Out of sight, out of mind.”

Sanders nodded. “I thought as much,
Chief Commander.”

Joe cleared his throat noisily.

“Have you seen them up close,
Sanders?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do they look like?”

“I heard a soldier once describe them
as the unhappy marriage between a lobster and a pray mantis, sir. I thought
that was fitting.”

Joe frowned, wiping sweat from his
face.

“I wish they had sent someone else,”
he said, eyes fixed on the ground, “Someone better than me, Sanders.”

“I think perhaps everyone has similar
thoughts in such circumstances, sir.”

Thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump…

Joe tilted his head.

“Have the turrets stopped?”

“They’re being reloaded, sir. Three
reloads remain.”

The men exchanged a glance, but both
were too considerate to verbalise the obvious.

***

I watch, I wait, the time draws near.
The resources of the enemy grow thin, the soldiers grow tired.

My losses have been great. My body
has sustained much damage, as it has for a great deal of time already. But the
moment draws near, and the end is upon us at last. My body will endure. It
always has.

My right arm has been patient, but
now I flex it in preparation, letting it know that it can at last prepare to
strike the finishing blow. The Ultimate-Soldiers awaken.

I wait, and when the war has been
won, my body will heal.

***

“You mentioned something before,” Joe
said, “About sending men to confirm or debunk a theory. What was that about?”

Sanders sat up in his chair and
uncrossed his arms. One hand absently wiped away sweat.

Thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump.

“Yes, sir, I have a theory.”

“Tell me.”

Sanders stood and crossed to a side
table. He poured coffee into two mugs and handed one to the Chief Commander.

“It has always been assumed that the
Martians have their remaining base of operations here,” Sanders began, pointing
to the heavily guarded area on the tactical map, “Every offensive operation
we’ve mounted has been directed at that point. Which would seem logical.”

“It would,” Joe agreed, sipping his
coffee.

“But I suspect that if the Martians have any
kind of real central command, a leader, or any such thing, it will be here.” He
indicated the small, inconspicuous dot in the corner of the map.

“Why would you assume that?”

“Because, sir, it would be a genius
rouse of misdirection, ensuring we never get close to their real Commander.”

Thump-Thump-Thump. Thump…

***

A hundred black shapes moved silently
down the canyon wall at the rear of the base. Each of these specialised Martians,
the size of an African elephant, clung to ragged rock surfaces with hook like
appendages, reminiscent of the forelegs of a pray mantis.

One lost its grip and fell,
plummeting a hundred meters to the ground below. Its crab-like legs took the
impact and bounced its enormous armoured body, like the suspension of an off-road
vehicle. Unharmed, it scuttled to the base wall and began to climb.

***

“Have you mentioned this theory to
Command Central,” Joe asked, draining the remainder of his coffee.

Sanders nodded. “They took it under
advisement.”

“Have we observed this hive cluster?”

“Yes. It was reported to be a small
insignificant cluster, assumed to be the result of messy, nonsensical Martian
base building.”

Joe frowned. “I’m not sure, Sanders…”

Sanders looked up.

“Do you hear that, sir?”

A sound approached, like the clopping
of horse hooves on a hard surface. Sanders realised first.

“Oh no,” he gasped, “Sir, run for the
armoury!”

Joe had made it twenty meters before
the first Ultimate-Soldier leapt down into the courtyard, its pointed legs
sinking a foot into solid cement. It pivoted on the spot, each beat of its legs
creating a sound like a sledgehammer into rock, and spotted the Chief
Commander. He heard it coming and glanced over his shoulder.

Joe fell to the ground as gunfire
rattled. Bullets whipped over his head, followed by singing whines as they ricocheted
off the exoskeleton. The Martian continued its advance.

“Keep firing, keep firing,” Sanders
bellowed, advancing on the Martian from the rear. His own automatic weapon
shuddered.

At last, less then twenty meters from
Joe, the Martian fell.

“What the hell is it?!” Farrows spat.
“How did it get in?!”

“New breed,” Sanders said
breathlessly, stepping forward to inspect the creature. “Took over a hundred
rounds to put it down. Thicker shell; first twenty rounds hardly even cracked
the surface.”

The clip-clopping sounded again.

“Another! Up there!” Farrows roared.

The second Ultimate-Solder scrambled
out over the rooftops, defensive structures visibly buckling beneath its
weight. It dropped into the courtyard beside its fallen comrade.

“Into the armoury, Joe,” Sanders
shouted, “Into the armoury! Now!”

Joe was on his feet and running
before the second Martian fell. But by then ten more were ready to take its
place. He sprinted, arms pumping at his sides, and flew through the enormous
double doors. He passed the soldiers, passed the weapons rack, and huddled at
the back of the warehouse, chest heaving and eyes bulging. Behind him gunfire
roared, and a man screamed.

“Get those turrets reloaded,” he
heard Sanders. “Fall in beside me!”

Joe spotted an ammunition crate, a
large sturdy rectangle that had held automated turret rounds. He climbed into
it, body trembling, and pulled the lid shut.

***

At some point the turrets were
reloaded, and for a while Joe heard their powerful, shuddering reports above
the chattering of smaller weapons.

Thump-Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump-Thump.

But even these reassuring sounds were
punctuated by frantic screams and agonised cries. Some of the soldiers fell
back into the armoury, one of them sounding like Sanders. There was more gunfire,
more screaming, and the distinct thunking of Ultimate-Soldier legs on hard
ground.

“Where is the Chief Commander,” one
man cried. “Where is Chief Commander Gill?!”

Joe did not respond. He squeezed shut
his eyes and clamped a hand over either ear.

And then it was over. The gunfire
died down, and the automated turrets ran themselves dry. Joe stayed in the
crate for a long time after.

The beats of Ultimate-Soldier
footfalls could then be heard, exploring the base. Some came into the armoury,
and Joe heard them approach his crate. He bit his lip and held his breath, but
part of him hoped he would be found. After a few moments, however, the
footfalls receded and disappeared. There was silence.

Then for a time he simply lay still,
eyes open and body motionless.

“Coward,” he said to himself,
“Coward, coward, you God damn coward.”

After an hour he opened the lid of his crate
and stood. Around him were the scattered corpses of his soldiers, their bodies
so broken that the exact number of casualties was a mystery. He let out a
strangled groan.

A thought hit then, making his entire
body flinch. He was, literally, the last living person on the planet. His face
drained and legs threatened to buckle, suffocating dread threatening to
overwhelm him. But one of the bodies moved. His head snapped around, relief
rushing into every limb. He jogged over to the body, having to pick his way
among loose body parts.

“Oh God,” the body gurgled. “Oh my
God…”

It was a soldier Joe did not
recognise, a regular. One of the man’s legs were missing, the other twisted
beyond recognition.

“Soldier,” Joe said, crouching,
“You’re okay, you’re okay.”

The man looked around, face pale and
glistening with sweat. His mouth opened, but he was unable to form more words.

“Just stay with me,” Joe said,
removing his belt and fastening it around the man’s gushing stump, “Just stay
with me.”

But the regular lived only another few
minutes. And then Joe Gill really was the last human on the planet.

***

He sat with his back to a wall,
hugging his knees and watching the alien sunrise through the open armoury
doors. He planned to make it the last sunrise he ever saw.

He knew no one was coming for another
six months, minimum. Earth had long ago given up on the planet. The mining
operation had barely run a few months before the Martians, having scurried out
of their burrows on day one, had become highly aggressive. The blame for how
the deep space survey team had missed the Martians was yet to be assigned,
though conspiracy theories were numerous.

The cost of the war had become
astronomical. For all means and purposes, the powers that be had hoped for a
justifiable excuse to abandon the planet. Hence his assignment there. He had
delivered exactly what was wanted.

He stood, dusted off his pants, and
headed for the command office. A pistol in the desk drawer would be his means
of escape. But as he stepped from the armoury into the open, he came upon
Sanders. The man had died in an embrace with a Martian three times his size,
his fingers still wrapped around the handle of a knife he had driven into the
creature’s head, moments before death. The Martian, black blood still dripping
from its mandibles, clung to life.

Joe stared, his eyes moving over the
scene with mouth hanging open. The Martian raised its head to look at him, and
all at once rage was burning in the Chief Commander’s eyes. He stormed forward
and grabbed the hilt of the knife, his fingers wrapping over Sander’s cold
hand. The creature shrieked as he drove the knife deeper, up to the hilt. When
it stopped moving he stepped back, chest heaving. He put a hand on his chest,
over his heart, and all at once he was alight with determination.

***

Victory is at last mine. The enemy is
defeated. The plan, one in motion since the beginning, has come to its end. The
planet is again mine.

The soldiers have returned to the
hive and are already beginning expansion, readying for the new larva I will
soon birth. It will not be long before my body again stretches to every part of
the surface.

The remains of the enemy soldiers
will serve as a food source for a time, after which we will turn to my fallen
body parts, after which we will return to our normal primary sources; the
underground oceans. All in all, the war has served no purpose, detracted
nothing from my body, and I am content to continue as we were, prior to their
invasion.

***

Joe Gill walked.

The worst part of the journey was
over, the part having to navigate through the immense carpet of dead Martians
still littering the canyon mouth. He had had to crawl, climb, and even slither
on his stomach, to finally exit out beyond the canyon walls. Several times he
had cut or accidentally stabbed himself on a Martian limb or foreleg, but never
once did he stop.

Now, face red under the orange sun,
he took off his shirt and wrapped it around his head. Before him the dust,
rocks and sand seemed to go on forever.

He continued walking.

***

An enemy soldier enters my home and
stands before me. It speaks, soft body animated, tiny limbs flailing at is
attempts to communicate.

I call my left arm into life, drawing
it from the hive. But the soldiers are deep underground, tending to the
expansion. It will take time for my arm to strike.

I watch the soldier, helpless, and
see it is angry. I do not understand anger, I have no equivalent, but I
understand that anger makes the enemy dangerous and aggressive. I urge my arm,
my soldiers, to move faster.

Now the enemy soldier is putting one
hand on its chest, indicating something as it screams at me. I do not
understand what it is saying. But, it reaches into a bag, withdrawing an object
I do understand. It is an object I recognise, I have seen before. I call and
call to my arm, urging the soldiers to move quicker.

Now the enemy soldier walks forward
and places the object before me, pressing buttons on its surface. I want to
communicate with the soldier, tell it to stop, tell it that if the object kills
me, my body will die, and I will cease to exist. I attempt to call out to it,
but know it does not understand. It turns and leaves. I cry out after it,
begging, pleading.

I am afraid, I am afraid, I am
afraid...

Write a Review
Did you enjoy my story? Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks,
Marc Dickason

Theresa Alley:
I have not read a short story that was so well rounded out and Full of , not only fun, BUT well imagined characters!! This book actually made me TEARY EYED!! I LOVE IT!! GREAT JOB!! And a great joy to read!! thanks!!

re8622:
The Last Exodus quickly grabbed my attention. Almost as soon as I started reading the story, I couldn't put it down. I found that the ideas the author put forth were very thought provoking given the turmoil we have seen gradually rise over the last several years. I felt that I could understand th...

mohit tiwari:
Best scifi stuff I have ever gone through. Great way of story telling and a great story indeed. I really loved the way the author framed the time travel topic and made it seem so much real. Best part of this novel for me is the way by which the author builds up suspense by narrating different inc...

Tomlen Brenda:
This has been a fabulous journey reading this novel.you would not knw how interesting it is until you start reading it. and when you Start... you won't want to stop.I loved every chapter, the characters were great, the style of writing, the actions.. well keep writing your work is great!

NRF:
This was a very interesting story line, although the author did not go far enough in explaining the war and why some received special powers and some didn't. I really enjoyed this story and look forward to reading more of this author's writing.

Rebecca Weller:
This book is gritty, and not for the faint of heart, as far as what you can expect the heroine Layla is put through, and yet there is a compelling and tender love story wrapped up in the darkness. An easy flowing writing style, I was drawn to keep turning the pages to find out if Layla and Adonis...

Chevonne Prinsloo:
I loved this book.. I didn't want to stop reading it! just my kind of book... I really love how the plot of the story carries along. I hope there are more books to follow after this one! I like the way she describes how Rogue is feeling and the way she shows the emotions going through Rogu. I als...

Jennie_A:
I had a really excited Creative Writing Teacher in high school. She gave some strong critiques but was never short on praise when she enjoyed something. My teacher always complained that my writing style was too flowery. She said that I needed a "productive' writing style where each word brought ...

Jordano Quaglia:
I was taken to the future, to the shock of worlds among the people in the underground versus the mutants. The characters are well defined and rich in details, as I felt that I empathized well with them and envied their adventures while being scared by their predicament. It i a world that I would ...

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